I Can't Stand What You Do
by anoldsoulwithayoungheart
Summary: When someone ready to leave it all and someone who is determined to search for more meet in the most unexpected way, they have just a glimpse of the other's hurt and struggles. A story that tries to answer, if possible, the puzzling questions: can we really help others? Are we in charge of our life or there's an invisible path already defined?


**_Friday_**

_The water is cold, heavy and the sunlight is tiring my eyes. Please let me sleep just for tonight._

**_Sunday_**

_I'm awake now, who knows how? The sunlight is gone and I'm still alone._

**_Tuesday_**

_The pavement is cold, December is the wrong month to get out and be bold._

**_Thursday_**

_I'm doing all right, now that I'm high. High on a plane for the unknown reign._

**_Friday_**

_I'm going to the bridge, going for a walk or a swim._

**Goodbye****_._**

Whenever the rain stopped, drops of misery started to fall. Dump, heavy clothes worn as a straitjacket, much lighter than the burden of a life who had lost every purpose and direction a long time ago.

From a distance you could recognize a man in his thirties, walking and dragging every step with his raggedy shoes, when in reality he was only twenty-seven.

December was the most depressing month of the year, especially for someone who had been alone for ages now. On that eventful night, snow had unexpectedly traded places with rain and while Mike could imagine children cozily covered by soft blankets, safe in their mothers' embrace, he couldn't find any remembrance of a similar feeling in the little box he only rarely opened.

A sudden warmth made his body tremble, right where his heart was. Mom. What did that word mean to him? The last time he had seen her he was thirteen. He didn't remember much of her, he just had a resemblance of her blurry features filtered by the thick tears in his eyes.

"Mom, let me stay with you! Mom, please. I beg you. I don't want to go with him!"

She took his little sister Holly in her arms without even letting him hug her one last time and closed the door forever without saying goodbye. It wasn't a simple door closing because the images of a different childhood and adolescence reminded him of what he had lost, sacrificed, of everything that had brought him where he was on the 11th of the month where children are supposed to be happy and excited about Christmas. That everything started in 1984, when the door closed, his chance of being who he wanted to be faded, his heart was stomped irrevocably for the first time.

Mike fell. His knees hit the ground in a deaf, ferocious thud.

"Highway to hell, I'm on the highway to hell" he sang in a whisper chocked and muffled by salty tears and rain, which had picked up, coming down profusely.

He gathered himself, mostly encouraged by the fact that at this point he couldn't give up. He had almost made it.

When the bridge's sidewalk finally appeared under his feet, he remembered the first time he had crossed it with his red Shelby Dakota, boxes and bags scattered in the back of the truck filling every inch of it. There was hope, there were dreams and a new beginning ahead, but he soon learned the notion that you can never run away from your past, from suffering. Getting rid of the past was as easy as getting rid of his addiction: impossible. He felt the blame grow until he found a reason to be blamed. Regret, guilt, pain led him to a choice: the path to freedom. He wasn't pondering anymore because he didn't need to ponder on anything. The choice had been made months before and it was now time to finally go on with the plan for his own sake. It would have ended like this anyway, maybe in a few years or maybe in a month, but that was his fate and he was tired of escaping from it.

"Holly, I wish you were here. I wish you had stayed more than a week. I'm sorry you didn't see me at my best, but I stopped being at my best a long time ago."

He tripped again, this time hitting the rough asphalt with his nose so hard that he almost lost consciousness. In his altered state nothing was working properly, not a muscle in his body was spared from abrupt and violent spasms.

Although, somewhere inside his being resided an unknown determination never before shown towards any vital function. So strong was the desire to reach his final destination and so desperate was the need to free himself once and for all that he ignored his fractured nose and the stream of blood mixed with water, staining his face and clothes.

He was wearing a pair of grey sweatpants with a basic blue sweatshirt, the same clothes he had been unconsciously wearing for about a week. A windbreaker was the only thing 'protecting' him from the hostile weather.

The cold, the rain, his clothes, his pain wouldn't have mattered in a few minutes. Nothing would have had a meaning anymore and it was the only thrilling thought occupying the back of his mind.

"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two..." he was counting the steps to reach the exact spot.

"Here."

He inhaled and exhaled loudly turning his head to face the water, not the one falling from the sky, but the one waiting for him to fall in her deadly and freeing vise.

By that point Mike was a bundle of seizures and strident moans that would have caused even the most heartless man to explode in a loud and genuine cry.

An undeniable need to be somewhere else radiating from his weak, trembling body.

"Will, I really loved you. I wasn't escaping from you, I was escaping from myself. I should have found a way to let you know. I should have talked to you."

He had managed to bring both his legs on the other side of the railing, back turned against it. Brown deep eyes, facing deep blue water. That same blue would have engulfed his dark eyes and pale skin putting an end to this neverending fight. Black and white in a costant and draining battle whose only loser was Mike, his heart warring between past and future, darkness and light, anguish and relief. He would have preferred for it to be all black or all white. Instead, he had to deal with an exhausting, painful back and forth.

Looking into the water he gave in to memories one last time and he struggled in a desperate search for the good ones.

"Mike! Look at what my dad's got me." the slender figure of a short boy with a very defined bowlcut and light brown hair, ran into his direction with a record held proudly in his hands with two relatively young men sporting extravagant and not very fashionable haircuts on the cover.

"Bridge over troubled water." Mike read the title out loud arching his eyebrows in a sceptical expression.

"Your dad's an asshole, but let's give it a try anyway."

The taller boy had always been distrustful of his friend's dad and with reason. He felt a sharp repulsion towards the man who made his best friend's suffer so much in the past. Little did he know, the record, which at beginning was heard with suspiciousness, became the soundtrack of both the short, queer and naive boy and the tall, protective one's lives.

"Come on, put it on!"

"All right, all right. I'm warning you though. Don't get your hopes up, I'm sure it's gonna sound like shit."

In a few smooth movements, perfectly learned by heart, Mike put the record on. A piano accompaniment, simple and earnest came in followed by an angelic, soft voice.

"I told you so, Will. Just some romantic, boring tune."

"Shut up Mike. At least try to listen."

_When you're weary, feeling small_

_When tears are in your eyes, I'll dry them all_

_I'm on your side, oh, when times get rough_

_And friends just can't be found_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down_

_Like a bridge over troubled water_

_I will lay me down_

They both listened in silence for a bit, which caused Mike to be flooded with a sense of guilt. The lyrics were beautiful and they were the testament of a deep friendship, as deep as the one he shared with the boy sitting beside him.

"Will, do you still need help with dance lessons?" he asked impressed by his own words.

Will bowed his head a bit, blushing at the memory of Mike's reaction the first time he had asked him the same thing.

"Don't worry about it. I'll figure it out."

"No, I want to help. I was mean to you that day and I didn't intend to. Would you let me do this thing for you?"

The boys' eyes met in a sincere look only kids their age are able to share. A deeper understanding they knew had always linked them together, no matter if the circumstances were rocky or unpleasant sometimes.

Mike's brave hand held Will's one as he led him to a much wider spot in the room.

"There are two ways to do this. First one is easier. You just need to put both your hands around the girl's waist. Like this."

Mike moved his friend's hands in the right spot, but Will immediately put them back up.

"Will! What are you doing?"

"I don't know. I don't want to embarrass you."

Mike did the same thing again not letting his hands leave his grip on him this time.

"I'm your friend. I'm not embarrassed."

A short pause followed as they both got into the rhythm properly.

"See? It's easy. As I was saying there's another way to do this. One hand holds the girl's one and the other goes on her waist, not to high, not to low. Got it?"

Will nodded and followed his friend's instructions carefully.

They swayed more and more until Mike gave him a big smile.

"You are already better than me Will. I bet the girls are going to be all over you. The other boys will be so pissed." he laughed putting an arm around his stomach and the other around Will's shoulders.

They stayed in Will's bedroom talking about games and books until dinnertime, since Mike's father curfew couldn't be ignored.

"I liked Bridge Over Troubled Water a lot. Those two, Simon and Gandarfel are cool!" the dark haired boy said jumping on his bike and spinning away.

"It's Simon and Garfunkel!" Will screamed at the top of his lungs, a broad smile planted on his face.

"Whatever!" was the last word heard before one of the boys disappeared into the night.

Mike was disappearing into the night again, but this time there would have been no turning back because there was no one waiting for him at home, no one looking for him the next day, no one needing him. Will was not in his life anymore and that pretty much meant purpose was a stranger in his life. The smile forming on his lips accompanied by the absurd and brief thought of a stranger becoming the purpose of his life. Those are movies Mike, and not even the good ones, he reminded himself.

He took a long, deep breath and closed his eyes shut, ready to jump.

"Hey! Sir, don't move!"

A mix of sounds: a car door, a woman screaming, feet running. Mike kept his eyes shut, he was ready to do it, he was ignoring whatever was happening around him.

"One, two, three."

Jump.


End file.
